This Isn't Wonderland
by Shiinmaru-dono
Summary: We all know that Eliot wasn't always part of Leverage and that he had to meet other...less savory people in the time before. What could the story of a single scar tell?  Oneshot; warnings inside.  READ THE AUTHOR'S NOTE!


**This Isn't Wonderland**

_By Shiinmaru-dono and Sho-dono_

**Author's Note:**

This came about because Sho-dono couldn't get it out her head that during their times on the illegal side things, Eliot and Yassen had to have met. Well, this is how they met. Also, this links in to our other story "Down the Rabbit Hole" somewhere around chapter 24, chapter 25 but it can be read on its own. Anyway, here are the warnings: dark!insane!Nate, reference to past torture, NateXEliot, S&M references, bad words, and a bit of blood. Other than that, it's not so bad.

(Yes, I'm aware this should be in the crossover section but no one reads those except the crazies…)

**Disclaimer: We don't own Leverage or the Alex Rider series; trust me, you don't want us in control of those. Many bad things would happen. Have fun; if you don't like, don't read; on with the fic!**

Hey, this is Sho-dono, for those of you who know me and my mind (I pity you) this story will come as no surprise to you because you will often hear me rambling about stuff like this all the time. Now, enjoy, but I swear if I hear one flame that has no basis in logic or has such terrible grammar that the only reason I can understand what is being written is because of reading stuff on FFN so long my mind automatically translates it, I will hunt you down and MURDER YOU! Have a nice day! *smile*

*Shiinmaru-dono in the background, "And to think, she has half my brain…"*

_Never let Parker in the kitchen. EVER!_, thought Eliot Spencer as he glared down at his sauce cover shirt and jeans then back up at a surprised Parker holding a large pan. Counting backwards from ten, the hitter stomped angrily to his room to change. _This was my favorite pair of jeans_, he mentally grumbled. Once the ruined clothes had been shucked and thrown into a garbage can, the brunet rummaged through the spare bag of clothes he kept in the hideout. Normally he only wore the outfits stashed in it when he had been hurt on one of their jobs or he had to spend more than one night over in the apartment above the Irish pub, which meant that the bag mostly contained loose sweatpants and tank tops.

"What's that scar from?" Parker asked, popping out of nowhere and startling the Southerner.

"Damn it Parker! What have I told you about comin' in here when I'm changing!" Eliot shouted, pulling a pair of navy sweats on as he turned to glare at the thief.

She didn't answer and slipped forwarded before he could react; she fingered the scar in questions before asking again, "What's that scar from?"

The mark in question was an angry looking starburst pattern mid-way down his thigh, nearly white and badly puckered, it looked like one of those fake scars kids would buy for Halloween and cover in fake blood. There was a matching one just above the back of his knee

"Leave it, Parker. And git out of here!" he shouted.

"What's all the yelling about," Nate questioned, walking sedately toward the commotion.

Eliot finished getting dressed quickly before evading Nate's question, "Parker needs another 'respect other's privacy' lecture from Sophie," the brunet stated bluntly.

"That's not an answer, Eliot. Try again," the mastermind responded, casually leaning against the door frame.

Eliot pressed his lips together and before he could respond to Nate's prodding the blonde opened her mouth, "Eliot's got a really big scar on his leg and he won't tell me how he got it," she whined as she poked the area said scar was located repeatedly.

"It's none of yer damn business! Leave it alone!" he shouted losing his temper and shoving parker aside only to have Nate block his path.

"Eliot, apologize to Parker and then you and I are going to have a little chat, understood?" Eliot was tempted to simply shove the alcoholic aside and leave but he didn't. He turned around and gave Parker a short, slightly rude apology for knocking her over. Nate beckoned for the hitter to follow and motioned for him to sit once they'd entered the mastermind's private office.

Eliot refused and remained standing near the door. Waiting for Nate to speak.

"When I caught you previously you didn't have that wound, Eliot. Explain it. Now." The hitter crossed his arms and remained stoically silent. The older male sighed before speaking once more, "You can either tell me now, of your own free will, or things will get very painful very quickly." There was an edge in his voice; a hint of unchecked, feral rage just barely underlining the words that sent a shiver down Eliot's spine.

Few people knew of Nate's darker side; the side he kept hidden from the rest of Leverage, Inc. and he had learned that it was better for him if he went along with the older man's wishes. "Got shot. By an assassin. So I wouldn't be able to stop him from killing his target. S'why I don't like guns." The former insurance investigator only settled more comfortably in his chair and raised an eyebrow. He looked pointedly at a cherry wood box on the shelf before returning his gaze to the younger man.

When Nate had first caught him, the investigator had used that very same kit to procure the location of a meeting between the person who had hired Eliot and the buyer of the merchandise. It had been unpleasant to say the least.

"Ya don't need to threaten me with yer tools, Nate." The leader's other eyebrow joined its brother up by his hairline.

"Prove it," he stated simply as he leaned his chair back.

Eliot ran a hand through his hair distractedly before seating himself in the previously proffered chair. "It was ten or so years ago in Siberia..."

**-Flashback-**

A freezing wind blew against Eliot's thick coat as he stared morosely at the small cabin he had been tasked with robbing. Why did he always have jobs in most inhospitable areas? He surveyed the 'house' to find the best - least messy - point of entry; the snow was going to make getting in and out unnoticed irritatingly difficult.

Eventually, the American decided to take advantage of the surrounding trees and his still slightly gawky physique; he was still working on building up his muscles, so hopefully, he wouldn't break any of the branches he planned on climbing. With a half-formed plan in his mind Eliot started towards the edge of the clearing to a large tree with a branch that nearly touched the roof of the home he needed to get into.

Half-way up, he was roughly shoved against the trunk while a gun was pressed to his temple. "Who are you and what are you doing here," a low, cold voice questioned.

The 'still green' hitter lifted his hands slightly in surrender before speaking, "Just climbin' a tree, no crime against that is there?"

"You're an American from the south by your accent and you are sneaking about the Russian countryside in the middle of the night." The taller male shifted his hand to clench the rookie's throat, "Tell me what you are doing here or I will kill you."

Eliot broke out in a cold sweat which, in a Siberian winter, did nothing more than make him even colder than he already was. "Look, obviously neither of us are here for strictly legal reasons, personally I'm here to steal something. You?"

The man leaned back enough that the brunet could catch a glimpse of him: He was of average height with a dancer's lithe build. The blue eyes were like ice and faintly glowed in the dark while the near-white hair caught the moonlight whenever the cloud cover passed. "The occupant is my target," was the assassin's simple response.

"So how 'bout instead of you killin' me and having to deal with your target hearin' the gunshot we get in together and get our jobs done then part ways? How's that sound?"

"Agreed," he removed the gun and his grip before continuing, "Your name?"

Eliot shifted on his tentative perch and looked his captor turned accomplice over more carefully. The guy couldn't possibly be much older than him if at all. Hard to believe a kid like him would be killing people for a living. "Eliot," the brunet held out his hand to shake, "Eliot Spencer. You?"

The blonde looked at the hand with disdain, "Yassen Gregorovich." He gracefully turned and walked across the branch before leaping quietly onto the roof.

Eliot watched him go with the sort of jealous awe a fellow sportsman would give his rival before following in a much clumsier fashion. When he finally caught up with the Russian, as his faint accent suggested, the American was cold, wet, and in a decidedly worse mood than he had been when he started the job.

Entering the house was unnervingly...easy; the reason was apparent once the pair managed to look around. The cabin wasn't a cabin; it was a front for a bunker with a menacing, vault-like door barring entrance. Eliot crouched down and glared at the offensive iron entryway blocking him from his goal, maybe if he sat there long enough someone would come out, he thought in intense annoyance. His companion, however, began examining the entrance carefully, feeling around its edges and after a few moments looked up at the brunet in annoyance, "If all you are going to do is sit there and watch then I will shoot you, if not, then look for a way to unlock it."

"Fine, fine. Has anyone ever told ya that yer a bastard?" the hitter grumbled before doing as commanded. It was half an hour before the blonde figured the secret behind the entrance; the door, fortunately, had been oiled recently and was silent. It opened onto a stairwell that was brightly lit and both men hesitated before beginning their slow way down, vowing that if they had time they would find wherever the security room was and trash it.

It was six flights before they reached the house proper; the design was decidedly medieval and neither cared for its similarity to a dungeon. At this point, the two parted ways to complete their respective missions: Eliot to the target's study for incriminating documents and Yassen to the target's bedroom for obvious reasons. With their tasks complete they quickly regrouped and hightailed it to a nearby village inn.

The next day –

**-Pause Flashback-**

"You're skipping something, Eliot," Nate remarked.

Eliot paused in his tale to focus on his boss, "Didn't think the details between me and him spending the night in a hotel interested you that much," he tried to joke but the darker haired man's face remained unchanging. Before the hitter could react, Nate's cherry wood box was on the table and open and a familiar syringe was pressed against the younger man's jugular.

"It would be so easy," the mastermind whispered, a tinge of madness and suppressed pleasure lacing his words as he straddled Eliot's lap. The Southerner could only remain absolutely still with his eyes clenched shut as a tremor made its way through his body; he'd forgotten how terrifying Nate could be when he let even a fraction of his control go. He'd forgotten that the man on him wasn't the slightly eccentric, fairly harmless drunk he portrayed himself as. He'd forgotten that his lover, while completely human, didn't have a shred of humanity left in him.

"Nate, love, please don't." Eliot wasn't afraid to beg in this case; it was probably the only way he was getting out of this mess without severe damage.

"Why not?" The insanity was visible in the older man's eyes. _Shit, he's beyond pissed_, the hitter thought in a slight panic. Nate pissed was **never** a good thing; Nate pissed meant pain. "Do you remember what this is, pet? It's a paralytic that doesn't affect the lungs; you won't be able to move but, at the same time, you won't die from lack of oxygen. I used it on you that time I caught you; we spent so many wonderful hours together, my own." That serial killer grin was marring the mastermind's otherwise handsome face.

Letting go of his pride, Eliot quickly told his lover what he wanted to hear, "We fucked. Gregorovich and I were high on adrenaline from a successful mission and we fucked. It was way before we met and I've never thought of him since. Please, Nate; please don't." It almost seemed as the darker haired man was pouting before he slowly put the syringe back in the box.

"That wasn't hard, now was it?" he quietly murmured before returning to his seat, leaving the innocent-looking cherry wood box on the table.

Eliot watched his lover lean back in his seat before he allowed himself to relax, "Sure, Nate, anyway the next day..."

**-Flashback-**

The next day Eliot lifted his head from the pillow he had buried his face in and glanced around the small, cramped room that he and Yassen had shared the night before. He saw the Russian sitting quietly on the edge of the bed fully clothed with a pistol in his hand gazing out the tiny window next to the headboard.

"Ya going to shoot me, Gregorovich?"

"No. Not right now..."

"Ya have someone special, don't ya?" That was thin ice he was treading on by the tensing of the killer's shoulders but he was curious.

"It is not of your concern. I thank you for your aid. The room is paid for through to tomorrow; you are welcome to it." The blonde stood, grabbed his bag, and left.

Eliot watched the man leave before letting his head fall back to the feather filled sack and breathed out a sigh of disappointment. Finding someone to have sex with without having to pay them was hard enough; being able to let go of his restraints during sex with someone was near impossible…and he had just let one of them walk right out of the room without protest. The American groaned: He was an idiot.

It didn't matter right then however foolish it was to let the man leave without getting some form of contact information; the mission wasn't complete until he delivered the documents to his employer. Turning to look at the bedside clock had him rushing to shower and dress; he'd slept in and only had three hours to make it the meeting place two hours away.

He arrived at the meeting place, a hanger for private jets, with plenty of time to spare and used it to scout the area for escape routes, just in case. When the man he was waiting for finally arrived, Eliot was about to hand over the documents when a voice called out to him, Yassen's voice.

"Sorry, Spencer..." The hitter turned only to crumple in pain as the assassin hanging from the helicopter shot his right leg. "It's nothing personal," he finished before shooting the American's employer between the eyes. The Russian signaled to the pilot and left while Eliot lay bleeding.

**-End Flashback-**

"And that's it, Nate. It took a long time for the wound to heal and I haven't seen or heard from him since."

The leader of the Leverage team sat in his chair and contemplated all that his lover had told him; he had heard of Gregorovich - who in the criminal and investigating world hadn't? - and understood what Eliot meant when he described him as having a dancer's grace and beauty. Along with his deadliness, it was a miracle that the hitter had survived the encounter period. With a slight shrug Nate dismissed the younger male. The Southerner, however, wasn't ready to be dismissed just yet. He rose from his chair as if to leave before walking over to straddle the mastermind.

"I don't feel like leaving, lover. Ya made me dredge up something I don't much want to remember," he nuzzled the madman's neck seductively. "Fix the hurt, Master," he whined into older male's ear.

"Don't tempt me, pet..." He'd fisted the younger man's hair and was about to remind his lover why he was dominant when the phone rang.

Nate paused before he picked up the phone and gave his usual greeting, "Hello, this is Leverage, inc. Nathan Ford speaking. How may I help you?" He listened for a moment before handing the phone to Eliot, "It's for you."

The Southerner lifted the phone to his ear and drawled out a bored "Hello"... and nearly dropped to phone in shock when he heard who was on the other line: Yassen Gregorovich. Once he got over his surprise he lifted the receiver back to his ear and hissed, "Gregorovich? What the hell? Ya shoot me in the leg and leave me to die and ten years later ya just call me up? WHAT THE FUCK!" Pissed off? Eliot? Nah.

There was a slight noise on the other end of the line before the Russian answered, "My apologies, Spencer, but I was wondering if you and your team would be interested in something..."


End file.
